The Best Part
by MoldyMoo
Summary: (THREESHOT) Shortly after the race in California where Doc steps in as crew chief, he decides to write the first letter of many to Smokey after more than 50 years of silence...HUMAN
1. The First Letter

**Ever since seeing Cars 3 for the first time a few weeks ago (finally) and they revealed that during the whole time Doc was mentoring Lightning, he'd broken that 50-year silence with Smokey, that got me thinking like, what could writing that first letter have been like? What was he thinking and what could he have written after** ** _fifty years_** **?**

 **So, in my head, Doc left Thomasville in '55 (wrecked in '54 and took all that time to heal and recover and then it was '55 by the time he left) so when he wrote the first letter shortly after that first race in California in the first movie it was 2006. (51 years)**

 **I'm also in love with the idea that Smokey is actually Doc's older brother...**

He sat in the corner at the desk, the room dark except for the warm yellow glow from the lamp next to him, illuminating the blindingly blank paper in front of him. Why did he want to do this again? Well, for one, he owed him an explanation of some kind. He had hoped a letter might test the waters, be good enough for now, even. It wasn't entirely what he deserved after all these years of silence, but it was the best he had right now and it was a good a start as any. A cross-country trip was out of the question and a phone call…well, that was always an option, but he didn't know if he even wanted to talk to him, to listen to what he had to say after disappearing for over five decades. A letter gave _him_ the option of how to respond, whether or not to bridge that gap after everything he had put him through. It put the ball in his court so to speak.

It gave him an option that Doc had otherwise stripped from him the day he left without a word.

He ran both his hands through his hair and let out a breath, elbows on the desk on either side of the paper. Where did he even begin? It'd been four days since the race in California and he was sure he'd at least heard about his surprise return. It was all the racing networks on TV and the internet were talking about, but he hadn't been interested in reliving that particular section of his past just yet. And he hadn't even touched that section of the paper just yet.

That night after the race, Lightning had insisted everyone stay at the hotel with him and the two had a long, hard talk in the hotel bar about the future. Initially, Doc had felt he owed Lightning both an explanation—only as much as he was willing to offer, anyways—and his help for that one race after having called the press to run him out of town. The next thing he knew, he'd agreed to be his crew chief without much of a thought to it.

Lightning hadn't even had to formally ask. He just assumed Doc would be there for the first race of the next season and he hadn't felt the need to correct the kid. Everything he'd missed about racing had hit him full force the moment he climbed into the Rust-eze pit box and accepted the headset from Mack. And he craved more of it. There was so much this kid could do already, so much he could still learn…

It was during that talk, though, that Doc decided he needed to write a letter. He was telling Lightning about the importance of a good team, of _his old_ team. But as he was lecturing the kid on their importance, he was realizing some things he hadn't thought about in decades. And because he knew he was involved now, and would continue to be involved, he felt he owed an explanation.

But again, where to begin? It had been so long…

And that's where he decided to start. He forwent addressing him at the beginning of the letter—he would know who it was to.

 _It's been so long, that maybe this is inappropriate and unfair, but I felt like you deserved something. Particularly because of the way things have ended up going recently, I feel like it would be worse to let the silence continue now. It's been 51 years. A little ironic, that number. I'm sure you've heard about the kid by now, and I'm not even sure how to begin to explain._

 _I didn't intend for anyone to ever find me, let alone that world. The smallest town in the state and that kid had to find it and pull me back into everything. Or maybe I'm still not being completely honest and I never really left. I'd be lying if I said I didn't know who he was when he rolled in. But I had no intentions on rejoining the racing world like this anymore. Not after the way they abandoned me._

He scratched that out quickly, cringing as his train of thought twisted.

 _Not after the way they abandoned us,_ he amended.

 _Fifty years has given me a lot of time to think, a lot of time to mull over my regrets and my choices, but it wasn't until the kid got to town and found me out that really drove the point home. I had pushed that whole life aside and left it there to die. This kid—not even old enough to drink—comes and changes all of that. He was right, though. I'm selfish. I didn't think about how everything had affected you, too. You were also kicked out, you were also abandoned. But I had only considered myself, my failures._

 _Took the kid telling me so to admit it, I guess. But I was wrong._

 _I never intended to stay on as the kid's crew chief. I thought it was going to be a one-time sort of deal. But he's grown on me I guess. He reminded me so much of how I was my rookie year, how naïve I was, how excited I was. How talented I was. All that potential. I wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe it was because he reminds me of myself that I agreed to stay on. He's got a lot of stuff. He's going to go far if the sport lets him. Might even break my record one day…_

Doc pursed his lips and dropped his pen, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He didn't know what else needed to be said. There was so much, fifty years' worth, but some things he didn't feel right writing down. Some things needed to be said in person. And if he was honest, some things he wasn't ready to admit just yet. The rookie had kicked up a lot of dust in his life and he was really just waiting for it to settle to really see where he stood with it all.

He didn't sign the letter. What name would he put down? His real one? Any of the numerous nicknames he'd carried over the years? He didn't know him as _Doc_ , but he really didn't feel like he deserved any of his other nicknames at the moment.

Before he could crumple the letter like a growing part of him wanted to, he folded it and slipped it into an envelope. He wrote the address on the front, still remembering it after so many years. As much as he'd tried to, he could never forget where he'd come from.

His eyes drifted over his shoulder towards the Hornet sitting behind him, the new decals vibrant against the blue color. He'd forgotten what it had looked like with all the racing paraphernalia adorning the paint. It felt _right_ , _whole_ again.

There was a knock at the door before one slid open, letting the neon lights pour in from outside.

"Who taught you to knock? I think that's the first time."

Lightning rolled his eyes and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Mater is setting up a bonfire and Red is kind of panicking. They're trying to celebrate."

Doc sighed and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. The kid had dragged him out to the Butte earlier that day to practice, and of course he had his clinic duties for the later part of the afternoon. That much excitement over the last week and a half had left him exhausted, but it seemed like he wasn't going to get to bed early like he'd wanted to. Had it really only been less than two weeks?

Lightning hesitated. "You don't have to, I just figured—"

Doc stood and wiped his hands on his jeans before reaching across his desk for a stamp to press onto the corner of the envelope.

"What's that?"

"My resignation."

"Ha ha, that's not funny," Lightning said dryly.

Doc smirked and led the way out the door. "Then mind your business, Kiddo."

He'd dropped off the letter before he could change his mind, and it took three letters over the course of the next three months before he ever got a reply…


	2. Call

**Uhm. I didn't intend to make a part two but I opps'ed. Also just a note, I'm in love with Nurfhurdur's universe (as is everyone else it seems) so I've taken to Smokey being Big Brother Henry, and I make references to Ruth, but I'm not really comfortable writing her since she's someone else's character so I'll reference her, but go read her fics because they'll be infinitely better :P**

By the time he'd mailed off the third letter and two weeks had gone by since, Doc had more or less accepted the fact that he was never going to get a reply, which was fine with him. He'd keep writing and sending letters. The letters had turned into a way more selfish thing anyways. He found they helped him sort thoughts out and get things off his chest, but more so lately he'd just been telling him about the kid.

So he was surprised the day he was sifting through various bills and credit card offers in the dim light of his kitchen and saw a letter hand addressed to him from back east. He'd blinked a few times and flipped the envelope over looking for some sign it was faked, that someone was messing with him. Tearing open one end and pulling out the paper, he unfolded it and tilted it towards the light.

 _Call._

That was all it said followed by a phone number. He studied the empty page, front and back, and then glanced at the clock on the oven. Scratching the back of his head, he quickly did the math. It was too late tonight—it was nearly two in the morning on the coast. He'd have to wait until the morning. If he got up the courage to call at all…

He hadn't slept well that night, only finally falling asleep when he was too exhausted to over think anymore. So when he got to Flo's that morning and ordered nothing other than a coffee, Sheriff knew something was up.

"Why are you staring at me?" Doc asked with a sigh, wringing his hands on the counter as he waited.

"You're all twitchy."

"I'm not twitchy."

"I'm _watching_ you."

Doc leveled him with a deadpan stare, pressing his palms into the sides of his legs to keep them still.

"What's wrong?" Sheriff asked after a moment. Flo placed a paper to-go cup in front of Doc and poured steaming coffee into it.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied stubbornly, reaching down the counter for the little jar of sugar and a plastic stir.

"Well, something is up," Sheriff huffed, turning back to his own meal in front of him.

"Just drop it," Doc muttered from behind his cup. "It's nothing."

"Honey, you been here long enough, we can _all_ tell when something is off," Flo murmured, leaning into her elbows on the counter. She touched her finger to the rim of his cup. "And you only order this _here_ , when you oversleep and run out of time to make it yourself. Been that way since you drifted into this town."

"That's not true," he grunted, turning away to pull a newspaper lying on the counter towards him, digging through for the right section. He noticed Sheriff still staring out of the corner of his eye. "Will you leave me alone? Don't you have work to do?"

Sheriff laughed. "About as much as you do, Doc."

Doc rolled his eyes and slid off the stool. He muttered a quick thanks to Flo before tucking the newspaper under his arm as he headed for the door.

Lightning noticed Doc's mood as soon as the older man parked the Hornet next to him at Willy's Butte. Lightning was leaning against the car, arms crossed as he enjoyed the rare cooler weather the off-season had to offer. But when Doc parked, he could see the almost agitated movements as he turned off the car and collected a few things from the passenger seat.

Those were always the worst practice days.

-x-

It wasn't quite dinnertime on the coast when Doc finally made the call after three failed attempts. He almost hung up as the tone droned on, but just as he was about to pull the phone from his ear, the tone stopped.

"Smokey's Automotive Service," the gruff, monotonous voice said.

"Never outgrew that nickname?" was all he could think of to say.

There was a long pause and he could almost _see_ his brother rubbing at the stubble along his jaw, lips pressed together as he considered hanging up. "You're gonna be the death of me, kid, I swear. Do you know this?" the other man grumbled across the line and Doc could hear him closing the garage door in the background.

"I'm sorry."

"We still watch the races occasionally. Nearly had a heart attack when I saw you."

Doc said nothing, waiting for it, waiting for him to drag his ass to the moon and back. Or maybe he was waiting to do that in person. Either way, he just wished something would be said to rid the line of the awkward silence, the uneasiness. He regretted calling at all. He should have just shown up in person.

"Why did you send me those letters?" he demanded.

"I don't really know," Doc sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned back against the sink. "So many reasons, really. Didn't feel right to get back into it publicly without contacting you again."

"Was it to make _us_ feel better or _yourself_?"

Doc let out a slow breath as he thought how to answer that, because he wasn't sure anymore. Had they started off being for Smokey? Or had they always been to make himself feel better? Did he want to contact him because he felt it was the right thing to do for his brother, or because it would ease the guilt of having abandoned the only remaining family he had?

"I'm sorry, Hen—"

"Listen," he said lowly, interrupting him. "A lot of this needs to be said _in person_. Don't apologize until you know you mean it. You want my forgiveness? Try in person. You have fifty years to make up for."

"I know," Doc breathed, knowing exactly what that meant. "Then why'd you tell me to call."

"Honestly? To see if you would, you little chicken shit." Doc dropped his head back and stared at the kitchen ceiling, biting back a response. "Fifty years you been hiding, then all of a sudden you've taken to _snail mail_? I got an email now, you know."

"Of course you do," he muttered sarcastically, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear to free his hands. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and moved to light it.

"That kid is really somethin'." Smokey's voice was low, fond, and Doc knew he thought of the kid the same way, even from across the country. "Been watching him all season. He's got that natural talent that you had. Great from the start."

"I'm not going to let this sport destroy him, too," he grumbled around his cigarette.

Smokey chuckled. "I know you won't. The sport is different these days, anyways, it's not as new. Not as risky to keep an injured driver."

Doc only hummed in response. "Not gonna let him crash, either."

"I didn't _let_ —"

"That's not what I meant," Doc groaned, realizing instantly how that had sounded.

"Do you blame me?" He sounded almost offended.

"No," Doc admitted, breathing out heavily and watching the smoke curl and dissipate into the air. "I only ever blamed myself. Completely."

Smokey let out a loud breath. "Conversation for another time. Season's almost here, he ready?"

Doc tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray behind him. "More or less. He needs a bit more practice, but I have confidence in him."

"I won't lie, I was surprised to see you standing with _that_ kid that day. Always came off as the type you used to bitch about in our day."

"No one more shocked than me, let me tell you," he grumbled, picking up his ashtray and relocating to the little kitchen table, feeling some of the tension between them easing enough that he figured this wouldn't be as quick phone call as he thought it would be. "You know, I had him dragged out of this town. Called the press."

Smokey sighed exasperatedly. "I'm not even surprised anymore. What'd you do that for?"

"Didn't want him to ruin the anonymity I'd built up over the years."

"You mean the lies?"

"Yeah, that," Doc muttered gruffly, putting the cigarette to his lips. A thought dawned on him. "Were you following the season?"

"Yeah, been following every year since you dragged me into it. Hard to get out of it once you're in."

Doc smiled. "You're telling me." He took a final drag on his nub of a cigarette before crushing it into the tray. "Would you have ever bet on that kid?"

"To win? No. He's good, but he's dumb as nails for not keeping his crew around."

"We talked about the importance of a good crew."

"Oh, I'm sure you did."

Doc rolled his eyes. "He's changed a lot over the last two weeks alone. Wasn't sure it was in earnest at first, but he's building his headquarters here and everything."

"Kid, if there's one thing you in particular have taught me, it's that people can surprise the shit out of you and do the unexpected."

Doc ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes, trying not to let his words sting. But the bitterness in his voice hurt, almost as much as the fact that he was the reason Smokey was bitter in the first place.

Smokey's tone softened suddenly. "Next time you're in Charlotte at the Speedway, you should come pay your respects."

"It's been too long," Doc agreed quietly.

"She didn't deserve not seeing you for fifty years."

"She didn't deserve anything that happened to her."

"No, she didn't," Smokey agreed forcefully, "and neither did you. But don't hold what happened to you against her. I'm sure she'd like you to come by."

A silence fell between them and Doc ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say next. There was still so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask, and he knew there was just as much Smokey had in store for him, but he couldn't find a safe topic, one he felt comfortable with.

"I have to finish this maintenance before the end of the day, but I know where you are now, kid, and I'll come wring your neck if you disappear again. You keep in touch now, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Doc said, a small smile on his face. "I hear you."

"Good. Keep me updated on how the kid is doing. Looking forward to this next season. Gonna be interesting, if nothing else."

Doc pulled the phone away and looked at it as the call disconnected, feeling the decades old knot in his chest loosen, feeling lighter than he had in years.


	3. Hud's Boy

**OKAY I DID NOT INTEND A PART THREE but I'm just so intrigued by the idea of these lettersssss…**

When the bartenders had announced last call at Cotter Pin, Lightning was surprised, noting it was barely past midnight. He didn't want to admit, but he was enjoying himself listening to the older racers retell stories from their racing days with Doc. It was a side of him he hadn't really gotten to see much of.

Smokey stood with a grin. "It's a weeknight in a small town, boy. Just the way things work around here."

"I got some shine in the trunk of my car if anyone wants to move this party," Junior muttered conspiratorially as they stepped out of the bar and into the gravel parking lot.

River eyed him as the group came to a halt next to Smokey's truck. "What's it gonna take for you to stop hauling that stuff around all the time? If I'd known it was back there I would have driven myself."

Junior waved him away. "I haven't made it myself in years." He turned to look at Smokey, who only glanced at Lightning.

Lightning shrugged and looked at Cruz, who was engrossed in a story Louise was telling her still. Lightning smiled at how much of a fangirl Cruz could be sometimes. He looked back to Smokey. "I would love to continue talking, but if it's too late we can maybe meet up sometime later—"

Smokey waved him off and pulled a cigarette out of a pack. Lightning found himself frowning as Smokey stuck it between his lips and lit it, seeing a flash of Doc in this older brother. "I ain't got anything going on tomorrow morning." He raised an eyebrow at River and Louise.

"Aw, hell, I'm up for it," Louise grinned. "Can't let a girl down." She winked at Cruz, eliciting a grin from the dark haired girl. River sighed in defeat and, not to be the one left out, walked around to the passenger side of Smokey's truck.

"My car is the other way," Junior joked.

"Call me bitter," River called back as Smokey slid into the truck and leaned across the seat to unlock the other door. "But I am not getting arrested for you again."

Junior snickered and motioned for the others to follow him back to his Ford. Lightning got into the back seat next to Cruz, letting Louise take the passenger seat.

"So, Hud's Boy probably has a lot more recent stories about him than Smokey does," Louise muttered as if Lightning wasn't sitting right there behind them. Junior started the car with a chuckle.

"What was your first impression of him?" he asked with a glance to him in the rearview mirror. He pulled out onto the main road and followed Smokey down back the way Lightning remembered they had come.

"He was a mean, grumpy old man," Lightning muttered. "We didn't meet under the best circumstances."

Junior laughed, but Cruz looked at him, confused.

"How's that?" Louise asked, but Lightning just shook his head.

"Let's just say I found myself in a lot of trouble and Doc sentenced me to some community service."

" _Doc_ ," Junior repeated, letting the C click. He glanced at Louise. "That's gonna take some getting used to."

"I prefer _Hud_." She shrugged.

"Kid had too many nicknames," Junior grumbled.

"He ever get himself a girl?" Louise asked, casting a ridiculous grin over her shoulder.

"Not that I'm aware of," Lightning laughed. Louise hummed thoughtfully as she turned back around in her seat.

"What did he even _do_ in that little town of yours?"

"He got his doctorate and was the general practitioner for the town," Lightning mused. "We talked about how he ended up there once, but he never went into a lot of details. Didn't even know he had family still until he died."

Louise crossed her arms. "You know, that doesn't even surprise me," she mused aloud.

Junior frowned. "That he was a doctor or that he didn't talk about Smokey or us?"

Louise just shrugged.

"He also ended up being the judge of sorts. I wasn't a huge fan of that one."

The two continued to grill Lightning on the parts of Doc's life that they missed out on, taking turns asking little questions about the most mundane of things, like if he had still talked to his car—Lightning had caught him doing so on a few occasions. Cruz even jumped in to ask a few questions of her own, mostly elaborating on small snippets that had been posted in the Rust-Eze Racing Center.

Junior turned off the road finally onto another gravel path that wound down to a house nestled behind the trees in the dark. There was a single light shining next to the door on the porch, and Lightning could see even in the limited light how dated the house was.

"Welcome to the Hudson family home," Smokey muttered as Lightning approached the bottom of the porch steps.

"This is where he grew up?" Lightning asked quietly, stopping to take it all in, trying to imagine Doc in this place—on these steps, in the doorway, the yard…

"Till the day he left."

Smokey led them through the house to a little table on the back porch. The three older racers immediately walked around the table and grabbed chairs Lightning assumed were "theirs" while Smokey disappeared back into the house, emerging with two more for Lightning and Cruz.

Junior placed a large glass mason jar on the tabletop and stood, mumbling about needing cups if he was going to share.

"Drive him home later, please," Smokey sighed to Louise who let out a laugh and nodded.

"It's crazy thinking about him here," Lightning murmured, looking out across the darkened yard. He could see the silhouette of a barn and some unkempt gardens.

"He used to steal vegetables out of that garden there before they could be canned," Smokey muttered lowly, looking over his shoulder to where Lightning was staring. "Used to drive his sister mad."

"Sister?" Lightning perked up, eyes flicking back to Smokey. Doc had never mentioned siblings before he died, but this was the first time Smokey had mentioned _another_ sibling.

"Ruth," Louise added quietly, staring down at her hands in her lap.

"Where is—"

"Gone," Smokey interrupted. "When we were young."

"Oh," Lightning breathed, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

"Hud took it the hardest," he murmured. "She was his twin."

Lightning's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he otherwise remained silent.

The screen door behind them slammed shut, gaining everyone's attention as Junior returned with a stack of plastic cups. He hesitated before sitting, taking in the heavy air.

"Does anyone else remember," Louise began softly before vaulting them all into tales of Doc, silly stories of when he was new to the racing scene. Lightning couldn't help but get caught up in the older crew's stories. It felt like the person they were talking about was foreign, like a whole other person. Yet something about the person was familiar.

Smokey eyed Lightning. "He ever tell you how he got that car?"

Lightning shook his head slowly, mentally preparing himself for another story as a wide grin slowly grew across Smokey's face and he adjusted himself in his chair. He wasn't sure whether he was shocked or completely unsurprised as Smokey told him about his one-way-ticket trip. He only wished he'd thought to ask Doc about the history of the car before he'd died.

"I still can't believe Hud rebuilt that car after the wreck," Junior mumbled, pouring a little more shine into his cup—the only one being used out of all the cups he'd brought from the house. Louise slapped his hand and he screwed the cap back on the jar, placing it on the ground by his chair.

"It looked just like it did the day he brought it home," River agreed.

"You'd never be able to tell he was in a wreck at all," Lightning commented, slouching in his chair. "Still runs really well, too."

Smokey scoffed. "Boy, your car was fixed just as well. We all saw that race, and looking at your car earlier," he said, "Hud clearly taught you more than just racing."

"I built that car in the first place," Lightning argued.

"I'm surprised it can still race, it's so _old_ ," Cruz murmured, chin in her hands and elbows on the table. Lightning threw her a glare.

"What's wrong with old cars?" River challenged jocularly.

"I think she's saying we're too old to race," Junior joined.

"If you were all to race now, who do you think would win?" Cruz asked curiously, leaning further on the table.

The three exchanged looks for a moment, considering this.

"Hud's Boy," Junior and Louise replied at the same time.

River leaned forward on the table with his hand up, clearly a little offended. "Now, wait a minute—"

"Why do you guys keep referring to me as _Hud's Boy_?" Lightning huffed, a little irritated with the nickname they'd given him.

The three older racers shared a look before turning to Smokey. The man rolled his eyes and stuck his cigarette between his teeth, grunting as he pushed himself out of the chair. They all watched in silence as he went into the house, the screen door smacking the frame.

"Well," Junior drawled, looking around the ground for the jar of moonshine, but Louise kicked his chair and he sat back upright, staring down into his empty cup silently. An uncomfortable silence fell over them and Lightning glanced at Cruz, who only shrugged. A couple minutes later Smokey returned and held out an opened envelope to him.

"Wasn't gonna let you read any of his letters," Smokey murmured around his cigarette as he returned to his chair, "they were more like frickin' diary pages sometimes. But I think you deserve to read that one."

Lightning's eyes drifted down to the addressed envelope in his hands, recognizing Doc's slanted, all-capitals writing. With a last glance up at Smokey, who only took a drag on his cigarette and raised his eyebrows expectantly, Lightning pulled the paper out and carefully unfolded it.

The first two paragraphs were summarizing his second season, his first Piston Cup win. It must have been just after the final race, because he could feel Doc's excitement and pride through the ink. He couldn't help the smirk as he read the words. Not that Doc had never congratulated him or told him he was proud, but this was raw and unfiltered. Smokey's point was immediately apparent when Lightning read the paragraph that followed.

 _That boy is the closest thing I've ever had to a son in this life. And if that's my karma for everything I put you and the others through, if he's all I get, then so be it. I wouldn't change a damned thing if it meant getting the kid._

Lightning let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and shut his mouth quickly, teeth clicking.

"I already told you," Smokey muttered, reaching across the table to take the letter back, folding it carefully and tucking it back into the envelope before dropping it unceremoniously on the table. "You were the best part of his life."

"But I…" Lightning struggled to voice a thought, any of the millions of thoughts flying through his mind. It was one thing to see the wall Smokey had, every article cut up and pinned to the cork, some of the letters stuck behind them. It was a whole other level of difficult to see those words in Doc's handwriting.

"We could all see it," River grunted, propping one leg up on the knee of the other. "Just from watching the races."

Smokey pressed his hand over the envelope flat on the table for a few seconds before sliding it across to Lightning in a moment of decision. "Keep that one. He made a lot of mistakes in his life, and maybe not telling you he thought of you—"

"He didn't have to," Lightning sighed, taking the envelope into his hands again. "I always knew. I never knew my dad, but Doc was the closest thing I've ever had…"

This time, Junior did pick up the jar of moonshine and after pouring himself some, poured an amount into a second cup and pushed it towards Lightning silently.


End file.
